


The Good Man

by DeansDirtyLittleSecret



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 13:32:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12936339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDirtyLittleSecret/pseuds/DeansDirtyLittleSecret
Summary: You return from a hunt after a run-in with another hunter.





	The Good Man

 

It shouldn’t bother you. It shouldn’t mean anything. It was nothing more than petty jealousy, born out of delusional behavior. It wasn’t the first time your words had been twisted and used against you, it wasn’t the first time blatant lies had been told about you. None of that made it any easier or changed the way you felt.

Everybody hated you.

You’d just spent four days with several other hunters, all of them female, most of whom you’d known for years. You’d gotten together to bring down a succubus, an ancient succubus, an extremely powerful one, that had been killing men across the country for months. The hunter network had decided she needed to be taken out by a female hunter, preferably a group of female hunters. The six of you had been chosen to work together to bring her down. As an expert at not only deciphering ancient languages, but writing them, you’d been brought in to research her weaknesses, her habits, and anything else you could dig up.

It had been the longest four days of your life. You’d traveled to Wichita to help kill the succubus, not knowing that one of the other hunters there would be a woman who hated you, despised you really, and had ever since the two of you had gotten in a minor disagreement over something so petty you could barely remember what it was. Minor to you anyway, though apparently she had taken it to heart. You’d left before the succubus was even dead, after realizing three of the four other hunters were barely speaking to you, instead choosing to believe her and her wild accusations. Not that any of them had tried to get your side of the story; it was easier to believe the lies than seek out the truth.  

“Dean!” You tossed your duffel on the table in the war room and went up the stairs into the library. “Sam!” Neither of the Winchesters were in the library, the kitchen, the garage, or their bedrooms. You made your way through the twisting hallways of the bunker, finally stopping outside the door of the gym. It was half open and you could see Dean, hitting the heavy bag, grunting every time his fist connected.

“Hey, cowboy,” you whistled.

Dean stopped, turning to look at you. You took a minute to admire him - the sweat running down his neck, staining his pale gray t-shirt and the waistband of his sweats, his broad chest heaving as he dragged in a deep breath, his gloved hands clenched in fists at his side, a day’s worth of stubble on his cheeks.

“Hey, baby,” he grinned, “you’re back.”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Thank God.”

He crossed the room in two strides, taking hold of your upper arms. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” you shrugged. “Petty jealousy.” You cupped his cheek and brushed a kiss across his lips.

“That girl, what’s-her-name, the evil bitch?” he asked. “She was there? Running her mouth again?”

You giggled at Dean’s nickname for the woman he found utterly contemptible. “Every time,” you mumbled. “She hates me. And she does everything in her power - limited as it is - to get others to agree with her. Her version of the truth is a twisted mess; she neglects to mention her part in what happened, what she did, instead she accuses me of being pathetic, a baby, and too sensitive. It’s tiring to have someone bash you constantly, make you out to be the bad guy, all while refusing to take responsibility for their own actions. She’s like arguing with a five-year-old. No logic whatsoever.”

Dean’s arm slid around your waist, tugging you closer. He rested his forehead on yours. “You do know that in the grand scheme of things, she doesn’t matter. Not just to you, but to anyone. She might think she does, but someone that toxic, that evil, never will. She’ll end up alone and bitter.”

“But -”

“No buts, Y/N,” he shook his head. “It’s called karma. Trust me, it’ll bitch slap her soon enough. You need to stop letting her bother you.”

“I guess I really am too sensitive,” you muttered.

“Screw her,” Dean growled, pulling you into a tight hug and kissing the top of your head. “I love you and that’s all that matters.”

“That’s one of the reason she hates me,” you laughed. “I’ve got you and she doesn’t.”

“I don’t do evil skanks,” Dean shuddered. “Especially bitchy, evil skanks who think they’re above common human decency.” He took your hand and dragged you into the room. “Come on, hit the bag a few times, you’ll feel better. Picture her face on it.”

You laughed again and followed Dean. He stood you in front of the bag, stepped behind it, and held it still.

“Come on, let’s go.”

You settled into your boxing stance, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath. You took a second to center yourself, than you let loose, fists flying, throwing all of the pent-up frustrations you’d held onto for the last few days into every punch. It was cathartic, every slap of your fist against the bag making you feel a million times better.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, pummeling the heavy bag, but it was long enough that Dean had to grab you and stop you, pulling you into his arms and hugging you, one hand cupping the back of your head, his lips pressed to your temple.

“You, sir, are a ray of sunshine,” you murmured, resting your cheek on his chest. “Thank you for being so great. You’re a good man.”

“You’re welcome, baby,” he chuckled.

Nothing made you feel better than being wrapped in Dean’s arms. No one made you feel as good as Dean made you feel. Nothing mattered except that. All the shit, all of the hate, none of it mattered as long as you had a good man in your life. 

You were lucky enough to have the best man in yours.

 


End file.
